Before We Were Men
by RosePetalWaltz
Summary: A series of one shot drabbles, some short and some longer. Some sad, some happy. Some are more of an AU than others as well. (Title is a reference to the song Pretend by Lights)
1. Chapter 1

A young blonde sat alone at a table in class, scribbling furiously on a paper with a bright yellow crayon. After she dulled the tip down to a stub she leaned back a bit, examining her work happily. It had to be her best work yet. She snatched up a red crayon next, quickly abandoning her previous victim. She colored a flowing cape behind the smiling stick figure.

The teacher's aid crouched next to her, a kind look on his face. He asked,"What are you drawing, Allison?" The blonde kindergarten student looked up, and said,"It's a surprise, Miss Miller said so." She turned back to her drawing, shaking her head stubbornly when the teacher's aid asked again. He said,"Alright, Alli. I'll let you draw, it's looking beautiful so far."

The blonde girl hurriedly finished her artwork and stood up to look at it better. A certain blonde was holding a fire hose, helping to put out a raging fire. The firemen were cheering so far below on the ground.

When the teacher called the class to sit in a circle, Allison was first to volunteer to share. Ms. Miller hushed the other children, and after a few agonizing moments they were quiet, patiently waiting.

Allison sprung to her feet, making her shoes light up. She stated proudly with a gap toothed grin,"When I grow up I'm going to be a superhero!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Not Everyone Lived That Time**

There were many 'magic bullet projects' during the war. Each one claimed to be the final solution to the alien situation. One early example included the Olympus Experiments. The subjects were wild and uncontrollable, some believing they had risen to the ranks of the gods.

The Olympus Experiments was known for its civilian casualties and major property damage. Later it was discovered that the subjects had been held captive until they had developed severe cases of Stockholm syndrome. Few survived the final mission before the project was shut down, none without physical and mental injuries that destroyed them.

Nobody was prepared for Project Freelancer, however. The public was astounded at how efficient these soldiers were. Sure it was top secret, but few people could miss the damage they left behind. Nor could the families and friends of their victims.

Nobody could have guessed what darkness occurred behind closed doors. Not even with the AIs, the agents themselves saw the darkness of the project. None failed to notice the bloodstains on the inside of their suits. Nobody failed to notice their friends being shot down, only to have strangers wearing their armor appear.

None, however, noticed themselves warping before their eyes. Nobody was certain what number they were, if they would be replaced so easily. They just missed the bloodied bodies they called their friends. Nobody noticed the once artistic Wyoming throwing away his treasured paint set, nobody noticed the one pleasant Maine throw away his knitting needles.

They all pretended not to notice when Agent Montana lost his courage, becoming a weepy shell.

Occasionally Wyoming tried to tell his jokes, but usually nobody laughed and when they did it was hollow and dead.

One day, a painting appeared on the mess hall wall. It featured all the freelancers, current and past to the artists memory. Before dinner time somebody had ripped it down and kicked a hole in it and snapped the wooden frame.

Nobody wanted to remember what they lost.

Some began to fight back.

* * *

><p>I saw a headcannon a while back stating that there were only 10 freelancers because the rest had died. I built on it a bit.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**The Purple Twins**

North and South were rarely seen apart. Despite their differences, they always seemed to make up after arguments, even the more... heated ones. They often joked and laughed, and even slept in the same room together.

North and South were beginning to drift apart, bit by bit. North was put on the list, much to the jealousy of his sister. North never caught on fully, thinking she was just a bit eager to be on the list herself.

North and South had a wedge in their relationship. This wedge was known as Theta. Theta was a timid AI, often times scared out of his mind. North was a near perfect fit for the AI, willing to do almost anything to comfort his partner.

North was dead. In the heat of battle with the Meta, he realized South had stopped shooting. When his twin turned to him, he never expected the bullet to the kneecap he got. Washington found the stiff body of his friend, riddled with bullets from the Meta.

South was dead.

* * *

><p>I SWEAR THIS WAS MEANT TO BE HAPPY. Thank you for the favorites and reviews so far, thank you for reading my depressing little too short to be proper stories!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Do You Want To Play War?**

A young man stood near the benches by the playground. He tugged at his maroon shirt boredly, watching the other kids play. He had moved to the school in the middle of the year, so he didn't know anyone and everyone had already formed their bonds. So he was alone for the most part, it seemed.

He sat down, grabbing a stick and starting to draw in the dirt in front of him. He missed back home, sure he never had many friends but it was better than this, right? He heard footsteps come thudding up to him, and a shadow fell in front of him. He looked up, seeing a boy in a obnoxously orange superhero shirt. The boy asked,"Do you want to play war with me?"

Slowly, the boy in maroon nodded.

* * *

><p>The battle had gone poorly to say the least. It had been a while since Donut and the blues had retreated to god knew where. The freelancers had left as well, leaving three of the reds to bleed out.<p>

Sarge had stopped talking a while ago, mostly insulting Grif's death, calling him a coward and whatnot. Now he lay still in a pool of his own blood, redder than his armor.

Simmons pried his eyes open to a sliver, his visor cracked and broken in. He saw Grif laying in front of him, breath growing shallower each time. He coughed up a bit of blood, and asked,"Hey, Grif? You wanna play war?"

Simmons hoped Grif heard him.


	5. Chapter 5

My Bestest Friend

Caboose lay in a field, his best friend in the entire world laying across from him. The air smelled sweet due to the large amounts of flowers near them both. Birds tweeted cheerfully, flying across the bright blue sky occasionally. Caboose hoped they wouldn't pop on them again. That had been very gross.

He said, his words struggling to home out for some reason,"And that's why you're my bestest friend ever, Church. Church? Usually you are telling me to shut up right now. Maybe you are deciding to be nice to me."

Church lay in a pool of his own blood, mixing with Caboose's and staining the concrete crimson. His eyes had become waxy and dead looking. A large wound on his stomach had been the source of the bleeding. Gunshots and screams resounded throughout the warehouse.

* * *

><p>I don't know what to say about this.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Washington remembered watching Maine sharpen his weapon's blade. The white former freelancer had taken pride in it since he had found it. It seemed like so long ago. It had easily been years.

Years. It was funny how it was so distant, but it seemed like yesterday. Like yesterday was any closer than a year. Than a decade. Than a century.

Time had changed them. As their friends died one by one, Wash grew more serious and Maine more distant. One by one, their former friends died until they were alone. So they clung to each other.

Now? Maine held a gun to Wash's forehead. His finger on the trigger. The black and yellow freelancer could see it twitch every now and then.

That was when it hit him.

He wasn't Maine anymore.

Maine had died a long time ago.

He was the Meta now.


	7. Chapter 7

**Icy Cold**

Wash smiled. "Hey, Maine? You remember that time when Tex was new and you and the guys fought her? You just charged right in, got your ass kicked. Tex was a bit of a badass. Yeah, those were the good days. Back when we thought we were the good guys. Connie knew what was going on. Too bad we never listened to her, huh?"

Wash expected a growl in reply. "I still can't believe everything turned out to be so dark so fast. Everyone is dead now. Tex, York, North, everyone. Though you're responsible for some of that at least. I had to clean up your messes for a while there. Destroy their bodies. Put them to rest in a sense. They all died young. So young..."

The black and yellow spartan sighed, his breath showing in the icy air around them. "I can't believe it went down this way, Maine. I just... I just can't." His shoulders shook as a sob took over. His friend lay next to him, twisted and broken.

Wash walked over to the corpse of the white spartan. "Rest well, buddy. Rest well."


	8. Chapter 8

**One By One**

* * *

><p>CT sat in the field, alone. She stared up at the twin suns in the sky, lonely again.<p>

Agent Florida stood beside CT, praising her choice to betray the directors in search of what she thought was right. The burnette sat, mostly ignoring him.

North Dakota had joined the duo, making them three. For the most part he sat alone in the field. His mind often went to Theta, hoping that Maine was at

least taking care of his AI. Florida often tried to comfort him in vain.

York had joined them, bringing tales of Maine's insanity. Florida denied it, saying it had to be lies. Always the optimist, the blue freelancer tried to see the best in people. CT was beginning to warm up to everyone, though North stayed distant as ever.

When South came back, it was a hard and happy day for North. South had begun to apologize, stopping only when her twin wrapped her in a hug.

Wyoming arrived, bringing few regrets but many apologies, as expected from him.

Maine came back. Nobody greeted him.

Tex, the best of the best, came home. She arrived without a tear, only breaking down when she knew she was alone. Nobody figured her out, so she suffered in silence.

When Carolina came back, York was the happiest. They charged at each other, Carolina leaping into his arms.

Washington arrived last. The former goofball walked past the others and straight to Maine, sitting by his friend and shared a fist bump with him.


End file.
